In Dreams
by bamftastik
Summary: (post-game spoilers, mildly NSFW) Solas visits Inquisitor Lavellan in her dreams.


Of all the wonders he had seen in walking the world of dreams, this was among the most surprising. He was uncertain what he had expected. Some reflection of the waking world perhaps, the hidden fears of a haunted, troubled mind. But when he had reached out for her, he found himself in a lush forest, the grass beneath his feet soft and warmed by the sun. The Fade reflected the perspective of the dreamer, but he had forgotten that mortals could conceive of such beauty.

The Inquisitor was unsurprised to see him. To her, of course, this was only a dream. She was no mage, had no training in the fumbling magic of her people, could not comprehend the subtleties of possibility that flowed around them. No, hers was magic of another kind – of pounding blood and graceful sinew, of dancing blades that always found their mark. And yet when Solas took her hand, she was as soft as the hidden corner of her mind in which they now stood.

If these woods existed still, he did not know. It did not matter. Together they crossed singing streams and walked beneath whispering boughs, the sounds and scents and colors brilliant and undimmed despite being mere reflections. He marveled at it, for the moment swept away. Here, there was no sign of the war raging around them, of the burden weighing heavy on her shoulders. He would not have thought her capable of preserving this, of seeing the world in such a way. There was so much about her that was… unexpected.

She spoke to him as they walked, shared stories of her youth, of her clan. For once, the words did not pain him. He looked beyond them, past the disappointment, past the anger. These belonged to him, but the Inquisitor spoke only with love, with gratitude and affection. There were many points he would have argued in waking, but he stilled himself, lost instead of the sound of her voice, the simple pleasure of letting it wash over him.

Here, she was most herself. Here, she allowed him to see her as she truly was – not an Inquisitor or a Herald, but as a creature of the wilds, a being the like of which he had not thought to find. She was a woman possessed of extraordinary strength and, it seemed, extraordinary inner peace. Standing at her side, could he try to be any less?

In a moment of selfishness, he stopped, turning her to look up at him. Her face was lined, scarred, branded with the ancient markings of her people's enslavement. But like the words, he forced himself to look past them, to calm himself and see only her. Her eyes were luminous, intelligent, the eyes of one who has seen too much. Eyes like his. Her skin had been browned by the sun, forever warm. He longed to touch it, to taste the echo of that heat, to trace the smooth scar that trailed from her ear down to her neck. When he did, she didn't turn away.

She responded to his touch predictably, as a woman responds to the touch of a man. It was not his intention, but he couldn't deny the beauty of the color rushing to her cheeks. He coaxed it like a painter, his fingers brushing softly, seeking out the hidden parts of her, the parts that were still pale. The Inquisitor would give herself to him, he knew, but she could not comprehend that this was so much more.

The years stretched out behind him, the emptiness of cold slumber, the loneliness of waking to find the world changed. She should not exist, not here, not now. His hands sought confirmation, stripping away her leathers, tracing the lines of her, drawing out her secret sighs. She should not be and yet here she was, drawing him into her arms.

Solas was overcome. He sank to his knees, burying his face against the soft flesh of her belly. This wasn't lust. No, this was something deeper, something older, something he had not thought to feel again. He had thought the world lost in every way that mattered and yet here she was, the taste of her thick on his tongue. The Inquisitor sighed, her whisper nearly delirious, muttering old words to praise old gods. Solas chuckled, breathing deep, drinking in the warmth of her. He knew this feeling now, another marvel wrought at her hands. For in her, he had found hope.


End file.
